


The Flyer War

by WakeUpDreaming



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Why do I do this shit to myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3880120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakeUpDreaming/pseuds/WakeUpDreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a long story as to how Bucky and Steve got together. Sam would say it was all on him. Clint would say it's all on poultry. Natasha would blame it on flyers. It's mostly the flyers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flyer War

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: " I caught you covering up my flyer on the bulletin board with your less important flyer and now we're having a passive-aggressive flyer battle"  
> Thank you to Hannah (psychohannahlyze on tumblr) and my roommate Sammy for the help!

It starts on the first day of his sophomore year of college. He posts the flyer about his art club – his art club, he’s the president of a club as a sophomore, who cares if that’s only because he founded the club? – that he made in Maryland Hall, the dorm he’s been in for exactly twenty minutes: long enough for him to dump his things in room 105 and print out the first twenty flyers.

And then he comes back after that first round of flyers to find that someone has posted something for Engineering Club on top of his art club flyer. Which is so not cool. Steve designed that himself and spent three hours that weekend, when he should have been packing, getting the design of the flyer the most appealing.

So he stapled flyer number twenty on top of the Engineering Club flyer instead of putting it on his wall.

~~

It continues for nearly a week, art club, engineering club, back and forth, until Steve says, “Screw it,” to the engineering club flyer and decides to stake out the bulletin board until the jackass comes up and staples their stupid, poorly designed flyer over his.

And then he sees somebody walking down the hallway.

Steve was fully, 100% ready to pounce on the absolute jackass who keeps covering up his art club flyers with their engineering club flyers. He was fully, 100% sure it was that jackass Stark who, okay, was the most brilliant engineer on campus.

But that’s not the point! And, also, Stark is a grad student, and totally shouldn’t be posting things in the undergrad dorms.

So when it’s a dark haired guy, a little shorter than Steve (people are SHORTER than Steve now, it’s not easy to get used to that) looks around briefly and slaps his seventh engineering club flyer over Steve’s seventh art club flyer.

“Aha!” Steve exclaims, and it’s only after he’s jumped out of the alcove like some Scooby-Doo villain that he realizes how ridiculous that sounded. “I mean, it’s you!”

Nope. That wasn’t any better.

The guy turns around, completely unshaken by Steve. “Not really,” the guys says. “You’re the one covering up my flyers.”

“You covered up mine first,” Steve says, and he folds his arms across his chest and leans against the wall so it didn’t sound so childish.

The guy stares at him. “So tell me,” the guy says, opening his arms. “Come on. What’s with the art club, because you’re not the kind of guy who’s in it for the art bit. Got a girl in the club? Lose a bet? Find the first posters you can to annoy the engineering nerds?”

Steve blinks. “Uh, no,” he says, befuddled. “No, I founded the art club.”

There’s a realization in the guy’s face. “Oh,” he says, voice small. “I – I thought.”

“I think,” says Steve carefully, “this might have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

The guy nods, looking lost. “Uhuh.”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve says, hesitantly holding his hand out for the guy to shake, “founder of the art club.”

“James Barnes,” says the guy, brushing his hair behind his ear. It’s dark and looks soft, and Steve’s eyes catch the glinting metal from under James’ shirt. “But some people call me Bucky.”

“Do I call you Bucky?” Steve asks. “Or do I call you James and never talk to you again?”

James – Bucky? – considers it for a minute. “You can call me Bucky,” he begins, “if you don’t hate me for thinking you were just mocking us.”

“Don’t hate you,” Steve says, “but – wait, why did you think I was…?”

Bucky blushes, and it’s something soft and innocent and it warms Steve’s chest. “I might have seen you post it the second day.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows. “How did I not see you?”

Bucky shrugs, leaning against the wall. “I’m stealthy,” he says with a half grin. “I’m pretty good at sneaking up on people.”

“And so you thought I was messing with you?” Steve asks. None of this was making sense.

Bucky shrugs, eyes not meeting Steve’s. “Kind of thought a guy like you wouldn’t be into art.”

“Why not?” Steve asks. He might be bigger, might be stronger and taller, but he’s still the same art geek that he’s always been. Then he realizes there’s no way Bucky could know that.

The blush comes back with a vengeance, changing from the light pink to somewhat fire engine red. Bucky mumbles something.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, “never mind. You can keep your poster.”

“No, seriously,” says Steve, and he’s not sure why but he feels almost giddy, “why wouldn’t I be into art?”

“You look like that,” says Bucky, looking both frustrated and relieved to have said it. “And like, wow, so I expected, you know. Jerk.”

Steve, like an idiot, looks down at his own body, then back up at Bucky. “I look like a jerk?” Steve asks.

“No!” Bucky corrects, and he scrubs a hand over his face. Steve suddenly realizes how close they are to one another and swallows. “You just,” Bucky groans. “You’re kind of attractive.”

“I am?”

Bucky’s expression is so incredulous and so exasperated that Steve winces and smiles apologetically.

“Are you always this charmingly dense?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs. “Kind of haven’t had my coffee yet. Somebody’s been covering my posters and made me stake out the bulletin board all night.”

“Well then,” Bucky says, and Steve thinks he’s watching Bucky think through whether or not to finish that sentence, “can I take you for coffee?”

Now, Steve goes to a liberal arts college. Steve is a liberal arts kind of guy.

Steve, however, has never been asked out on a date, let alone from a guy who is standing five inches from him and just recently told him he looked like a jerk. So Steve is not sure if he’s being asked out or not.

“I think so,” Steve says hesitantly.

Bucky frowns. “Now I can’t figure out what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Why did you say you think so?”

Steve wants to say, _Because it sounds like you’re asking me out and I can’t tell_ , but instead he says, “Because I…” and then falters. How do you say, _Because I hope you like guys_? How do you say, _Because I have no idea whether this is a date or an apology_?

“Alright, I’m going to leave now,” says Bucky, “because I’m an ass and – I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s gone before Steve even registers what he said.

~~

“So,” Sam says at the dining hall over a massive plateful of spaghetti, “you finally get a cute guy, you talk to the person messing with your posters, they turn out to be the same guy, and you can’t tell him you like him?”

“You don’t tell a guy you like him. It makes you look like –”

“Hey, now, you’re deflecting with AVPM quotes. Not cool.” Sam takes a bite of spaghetti and it gets all over his face. Steve throws a napkin at him. “Thank you,” says Sam as he mops himself up. “Now, as I was saying, you’re not going to get any cute guys without doing some flirting and putting yourself out there. And talking. Talking to people you aren’t ready to pound.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and waits for Sam to catch the innuendo.

“Disgusting,” Sam says, shaking his head. “You knew what I meant. God, you seem so damned wholesome and then you do this kind of thing.”

“Wholesome?” says Natasha, sliding into the seat next to Steve. “There’s no way you’re talking about Steve.”

“Oh, we are,” says Sam, leaning over to kiss Natasha’s cheek, “we are also talking about how he finally ran into the flyer dude and he was cute.”

“Ooh,” says Natasha, folding her legs under herself as gets comfortable. “You ask him out?”

“I –”

“No,” says Sam, “no, Steve did not ask him out. Flyer guy asked Steve out. And do you know what happens next?”

“Do I want to know what happens next?” Natasha asks warily.

“It’s nothing bad!”

“Yes,” Sam corrects, “it is. Our boy here garbled his way through the conversation so the other guy ran off.”

“Shut up!” Steve says, eyes locking onto a semi familiar face across the DC.

“No, I will not shut up!” says Sam, gesturing with his pasta. “Rude, by the way. As I was saying, Steve here was all about the boy –”

“I wasn’t all about him,” Steve mumbles.

“You thought he was cute and wanted to go on a date with him. To coffee,” Sam says. “That’s being all about the boy.”

Steve sighs and looks around. No more Bucky in the background, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about Sam’s voice carrying. “Fine,” says Steve, “make fun of Steve, mock Steve. But you know what? At least I found out the flyer dude.”

“He got a name?” Sam asks. “Because Flyer Dude just seems too casual for your paramour.”

“He’s not my – his name is Bucky,” Steve says, and even he hears the wistful tone. “I mean, James. I mean, he first said I could call him Bucky, then I messed up, so I think he’s James now.”

Natasha eyes him carefully. “You realize none of that made sense, right?” she asks. “I mean, none of it. Not a single part of that made sense.”

Steve sighs. “It was a really short, really weird conversation.”

“But you still want to talk to him,” Sam asks.

“Yes,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “Of course I do. But I think I blew it.”

“I doubt you blew it,” Natasha says gently. “You’re too adorable to blow anything.”

Sam chokes on his spaghetti so badly that Natasha has to pound him on the back.

“Oh, so it’s okay when you make the joke?” Steve asks. “Look, I appreciate you guys trying to help me with my guy issues and the fact that I blow it with every guy I think is cute, but I think this time I really blew it.”

“Please stop saying blow it,” Sam chokes out, tears of laughter running down his face, “I won’t survive.”

Steve stands up, rolling his eyes at Sam. “I’m going to get another slice of pizza.”

“Grab me one of those lemon bars!” Sam says.

Steve waves him off but grabs a lemon bar on his way, one of the last on the tray. He’s deciding between pepperoni and some crazy flatbread concoction that the dining staff is claiming to be “healthy” when somebody slides up next to him.

“So you still want to talk to me, huh?”

Steve jumps half a foot and nearly drops Sam’s lemon bar.

“Hi?” It’s not supposed to be a question. But even so it comes out as one.

“Do you really think I’m cute?” Bucky – James? – asks.

Steve feels himself blush. “You heard that?”

Bucky shrugs. “Like I said, I’m stealthy.”

Steve manages a smile but gets a little bit lost when he meets Bucky’s eyes.

“Can I still call you Bucky?” Steve asks, and it sounds weird, but he hopes Bucky knows what he means.

Bucky considers it for a moment, but Steve’s pretty sure he’s kidding around. “Well, I guess so,” Bucky says, sending him a grin. “But you’ve got to get coffee with me first. You know,” he says, stepping a little closer, “to make up for that time that I ran away.”

“I was wondering about that,” Steve says, and his heart is pounding, “see, when a guy runs away from you, you kind of get a bad feeling about the situation.”

“You’re the one who turned me down,” Bucky says. “Also, your pizza is oozing off your plate.” Steve looks down. “I say oozing, because it’s kind of,” he gestures awkwardly, “liquid.”

Sure enough, the pizza’s falling off the plate and Steve catches it in time. The greasy cheese burns his finger within seconds.

“Aw, hell,” he says, and he puts his finger in his mouth.

“And with that,” Bucky says, “I’m heading back to lunch. You come find me before you leave, okay?”

“Or,” says Steve, “you could come eat with me.”

Bucky blinks. “You sure? Your friends won’t mind?”

“Not at all,” says Steve. “I’m sitting over there next to the girl with the red hair.”

Bucky looks closer. “Wait, is that…Natasha?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods. “Yes. That’s her name.”

“Yeah, I know her. How do you know her?”

“We went to the same high school,” Steve says. “Along with Sam.”

“Huh,” Bucky says, and he gets a little reminiscent, “you know she was a little shit in elementary school?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Steve says, grabbing a brownie because he knows Natasha will regret not grabbing one later, “how so?”

Bucky opens his mouth to answer, but before he can say anything Natasha shouts, “Jamie?!” halfway across the dining hall.

“And there’s the little shit part of her,” Bucky grumbles.

Steve can hardly hold back the giggles. “Your name is Jamie?”

“Was,” Bucky corrects, “and she’s the only one who called me Jamie.”

“Because…?”

Bucky mumbles something as they sit down.

“Nat,” Steve says, turning to Natasha, “why are you calling the flyer thief Jamie?”

Natasha’s jaw dropped. “Your flyer dude is my third grade boyfriend?” she asks incredulously.

There’s a silence around the table. Sam’s jaw is half open (empty, thank god), Natasha’s grinning so broadly Steve thinks it can’t be healthy, Bucky looks just a little pained, and Steve feels dumbfounded. Eventually he just decides to sit at the table and eat with what he knows is a neon red blush across his cheeks.

“So,” says Natasha after a moment of silence, “anyone want to hear about that time in ballet I roundhouse kicked a girl in the face?”

~~

He’s at coffee with Bucky.

He’s at coffee with Natasha’s third grade boyfriend.

Steve’s at the end of his rope.

Bucky ordered a black coffee and Steve ordered a French vanilla iced latte, because why not, and the two of them sit down in front of Baker’s Brews in the hot summer air.

“Isn’t that a little warm for you?” Steve asks.

“Spent a semester in Russia in high school,” Bucky says, “nothing’s too warm after that frozen abyss.”

Steve manages a small laugh. “Russia? How’d you choose that?”

Bucky stills and sets the mug down, his demeanor darkening for the briefest moment. “Wasn’t exactly voluntary.”

Steve can tell this is the end of the story. “Got any good stories about Nat when you were little?”

Bucky lights up again, the smile across his face sending butterflies through Steve’s whole damned body.

“Oh, man, you can’t imagine,” Bucky says. “She had these pigtails her foster mom always got her into, great mom, of course, but –”

“Foster mom?” Steve asks.

Bucky freezes. “She – she didn’t mention that?”

Steve shakes his head. “Natasha’s pretty…” he searches for the right word. She’s not closed off, she’s not private, she’s –

“Guarded,” Bucky adds. “Yeah. Pretend I never said anything.”

Steve nods. “I suddenly forgot the last thirty seconds.”

The two of them chat aimlessly, and it’s nice. It’s really nice. Steve’s never had it this easy with someone before. It’s always been difficult, something in the way, or, like Peggy – sorry, Margaret – in high school, perfect until he was gone.

He’s not quite sure he’ll ever forgive himself for moving away from Peggy.

But he might forgive himself just enough to try something out with Bucky.

Coffee after lunch turns into walking around town and window shopping while talking mindlessly, and Steve realizes suddenly that the two of them have been holding hands for the past hour.

They stop in front of a candy store called It’s All Sweet and before Steve can say anything, Bucky tugs him inside.

“We’re getting the lollipops here,” Bucky announces.

“Lollipops?” Steve asks incredulously. “Are we three year olds from the 90’s at the bank?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “They’re good. I swear. Cherry’s the best, but the root beer lollipop is really good too.”

As Bucky looks through the lollipops and charms the apron off of the store clerk, Steve does his best not to think about Bucky and a lollipop. He might not be able to handle it.

“What’ll you have, James?” the girl at the counter asks.

“Two lollipops. Your best, Emmie,” Bucky says, and god, that smile could kill him and he wouldn’t even care.

“I have two cherrys,” she says. “Thoughts?” She looks behind Bucky to Steve.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says. “Cherry’s good.”

“Fantastic,” Emmie says. “That’ll be two dollars.”

There’s an absolutely silent argument between Bucky and Steve that ends with Steve whipping out his wallet.

“Nope,” Steve says as Bucky argues, “you made me let you pay for coffee. I’m paying the two damned dollars for the lollipops.”

Bucky grumbles and crosses his arms, but takes the lollipop and thanks Emmie anyway.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” Steve says. “Let a guy take you out for a lollipop or something.” Steve takes a test lick of the lollipop.

He catches Bucky’s eye. “It’s good,” Steve says. “You have pretty good taste, if I do say so myself.”

Bucky licks his lips then the lollipop, nodding. “I think I do too.”

There’s a change in the air and Steve takes another step toward Bucky, who is still licking his lollipop.

“Um,” Steve manages.

That’s when Bucky leans in, pressing his lips softly to Steve’s, and Steve feels something in his body light on fire. They break away sooner than Steve would like, and Bucky’s eyes are lit up something gorgeous.

“Kinda wanted to do that since I saw you stapling that damned poster,” Bucky says quietly.

“Thought you said I looked like a jerk,” Steve says, brushing a lock of hair from Bucky’s face.

“Didn’t mean you weren’t cute,” Bucky says.

Steve’s not sure how to respond, so he dips his head again, catching Bucky’s lips in his own, a deeper kiss than before.

There’s something about tasting the cherry on Bucky’s lips that makes it better, and the way Bucky sighs as Steve pulls him closer with a hand on the small of Bucky’s back makes it even better.

~~

The next two weeks are an exciting whirlwind. Bucky seamlessly meshes with his group of friends, and even Natasha grows more open as Bucky pillows his head on Steve’s thigh or he cuddles up in between them on the thick grass of the quad.

Steve falls asleep two Sundays after their first kiss to the thoughts of Bucky’s smile.

And then he’s woken up much sooner than he had planned.

“Wake up,” hisses Sam in the bed over from Steve’s, “man, wake up!”

Steve groggily sits up in his bed. “Sizit?”

“That wasn’t English,” Sam grumbles. “Somebody’s knocking.”

“You get it.”

“They’re asking for you!”

Steve sits up straight and steps out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he opens his door. “Whassup?”

And then he blinks. Because there’s Bucky. Standing there with the biggest smile on his face.

Bucky’s smile suddenly fades into an expression of disbelief. “I – I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Steve asks, stepping outside and closing the door because Sam might kill him if he doesn’t. “Why?”

“Because you’re standing there in your boxers,” says Bucky. “And – never mind. Guess what!” It looks like he might just vibrate out of his skin.

“What,” Steve says, yawning.

Bucky grins. “Local band’s playing.”

“This late?”

Bucky laughs. “Steve, it’s eleven pm on a Saturday night.”

Steve’s response is a yawn. “Sam and I get up real early on Saturdays for away soccer games.”

“Well I’ll hit you with some coffee, because you’re coming with me to see my favorite band.”

Steve yawns again. “Okay,” he manages, “just let me put clothes on.”

“Or, you know,” Bucky says, and is he licking his lips? “You could not.”

Steve laughs, and damn it, he’s blushing again. “Not sure that would be appreciated by many people.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Bucky asks. “Just get dressed, you nerd.”

“You’re the nerd,” Steve shoots back, but his heart does that fluttery thing again when he catches Bucky’s eye.

He throws on a tee shirt and a pair of jeans, and darts out the door with his converse in his hands.

“Turkey Murder is going to be on in, like, ten minutes. If we run we’ll get there just in time.”

“Okay,” says Steve, “I’m going to gloss over the fact that their name is Turkey Murder. And let me get my shoes on and then we’ll go.”

Steve’s never seen anybody this excited in his life. Bucky catches his hand when Steve’s shoes are tied and they dart halfway across the dark town, laughing the whole way.

Steve’s not winded, and he’s impressed and surprised that Bucky isn’t either when he says, “There! That house with the lights on.”

The music is loud but upbeat, a sense of the pop punk that Natasha’s friend Clint puts on whenever he’s working on a particularly annoying assignment for – whatever major he has.

And that’s when Clint comes up to them.

“Hey, guys!” he exclaims with a beer in his hand. “Nice to see you here! Turkey Murder are about to come on, I can get you to the front!”

“You know him?” Bucky asks, a little reverently. “He’s the lead singer of the Hawks.” Bucky moons after him. “He’s insane.”

“Should I be getting jealous?” Steve asks before he can hold back.

Bucky looks up at him. “Depends. Does jealous look good on you?” Bucky considers him for a moment. “Oh yeah. Yep, looks good.”

They walk in, and Steve is suddenly struck by the fact that it’s apparently a bird themed show.

“Did you notice the three band names?” Steve says into Bucky’s ear. “It’s all birds.”

“What?” Bucky asks, and then he looks around. “Oh my god. The Hawks. Turkey Murder. City Chicken.” He looks up at Steve. “We’re in a goddamned poultry farm.”

“Hey, you dragged us here,” Steve says, but he tests out a kiss to Bucky’s temple, and decides it’s a success when Bucky closes his eyes and leans into Steve’s shoulder.

The bands are good. Really good. Turkey Murder plays a cover of Ain’t That America that causes Clint damned Barton to dump a can of beer over his head for no reason other than, as Clint so eloquently puts it, “’Murca!”

The Hawks go on last, a freshman named Kate Bishop going from the drums to the keyboard to the fucking bass guitar depending on what song they’re singing. Bucky’s eyes are brighter than the sun when they do a floor shatteringly enthusiastic version of Shut Up and Dance, and Steve takes the opportunity to spin the two of them around the dance floor.

It slows down when Clint yells, “Last song, bitches, we’re slowing it down so find a partner or whatever.”

It’s a cover of Hey Ya! by Outkast, with Clint at the mic and Kate playing acoustic guitar, but it’s slow and sweet and Steve can’t exactly take his eyes off of Bucky. It’s only afterward that he realizes that maybe Clint was kidding about the slow dancing thing.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” Bucky says, and his smile feels like a warm blanket on the coldest day of the winter and Steve can’t help but lean in and kiss Bucky lightly as the song comes to a close.

Bucky gets Clint’s phone number so they never miss another snow, and everyone leaves in a horde. They walk back languidly, hand in hand, under the stars.

Bucky knows every constellation, says it’s from his time up in Russia, which Steve’s still not going to press for details about. Steve is proud of himself when he spots the Pleiades and Orion’s belt, and his heart basically explodes when Bucky kisses him on the hand.

“Thanks for waking me up, Bucky,” Steve tries. “I forgot I was tired.”

“I could tell,” Bucky says, stepping a little closer to Steve. “You have quite the moves.”

“Okay, teasing is no fun.”

“I meant the slow dance, you dork,” Bucky says with a smile. “The fast stuff isn’t too graceful.”

Steve laughs and pulls Bucky close under one of the campus lights, kissing him lightly, then spinning Bucky again toward their dorm.

“Got pretty lucky, you know,” says Bucky, swinging their arms.

“That Turkey Murder was playing at the same show as the Hawks?” Steve asks.

“No,” Bucky replies, opening the door to their dorm. “That we both ended up in Maryland Hall.”

Steve grins. “I guess it’s more that we’re lucky that you decided to staple over my poster.”

“You stapled over mine first!” Bucky replies, incredulous.

“I did not!” Steve replies, and they both show the desk attendant their IDs, and stomp right up to the bulletin board. “See?” Steve says. “I’m on the bottom!”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “I mean, if you want, but later, babe,” and the nickname and implications do a weird, pleasant combination to Steve’s body that cause him to giggle, a little too high pitched, and turn back to the board.

“Seriously, though, look!” Steve peels the layers off. “Mine!”

Bucky sighs. “Oh, you are charming,” says Bucky, “but look.”

It’s a tiny piece of paper. A quarter sheet, maybe, stating the name of the club and where and when they meet.

And Steve’s sheet of paper is definitely on top of it.

“Oh,” Steve says quietly. “Oh, I am on top.”

“You,” says Bucky, pressing a laughing kiss to Steve’s neck, “are making the jokes way too easy now.”

They make their way down the hallway that Steve’s room is in, two floors below Bucky’s and pause. There’s nothing Steve wants to do more than take Bucky into his room, and do whatever the absolute hell Bucky wanted.

But Sam.

“Roommates are the worst,” Bucky says, stepping close to Steve. Steve leans against the wall and pulls Bucky to him.

“Totally,” Steve says, and he kisses Bucky. It was supposed to be a light kiss, something small. A farewell until tomorrow.

Except Bucky’s tongue runs along Steve’s lips, and Steve opens his mouth so he can kiss Bucky more deeply. Bucky lets out these moans, quiet and desperate, and with each one his fingers cling to Steve’s tee shirt even more.

“I wish you could say,” Steve says into Bucky’s mouth. He moans as Bucky’s fingertips glide under his shirt. “God, I wish you could stay.”

Bucky presses another firm kiss to Steve’s lips, something lingering and beautiful spoken through the action.

“Me too,” says Bucky, punctuating with a kiss on Steve’s nose. “But roommates.”

“The worst,” Steve says breathlessly. He kisses Bucky. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Steve nods. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” says Bucky, and Steve watches him as Bucky walks to the stairs.

“Get your ass back in the room,” comes Sam’s drowsy voice from inside his room, “so I can stop listening to the two of you gush and go to sleep!”

“Sorry,” says Steve, feeling a little giddy and a lot distracted.

“Nah,” Sam says, “you’re not.”

“Nope,” Steve replies, “not even a little bit.”


End file.
